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THE GARDEN OF LIFE 

AND OTHER POEMS 



BY 



ANNE RICHARDSON TALBOT 




BOSTON 

SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY 

1913 



7-: 



Copyright, 1913 
Sherman, French 6^ Company 



©CI.A350389 



TO THE MEMORY OF 

MY HUSBAND 

AND TO 

MY CHILDREN 



For permission to reprint 
some of the poems appearing 
in the following pages thanks 
aredueiheIndependent,Good 
Housekeeping and Christian 
Register. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Garden of Life 1 

A Broken Promise 3 

Homeward 4 

Silence 5 

My Debt 6 

Just Glad 8 

To MoNA Lisa 9 

A Dream 12 

My Own 13 

At Parting 16 

Ah, God Forbid 17 

Ingratitude 19 

Youth 20 

In Silence 22 

Jure Divino 23 

Not Gone 25 

The Lesson 26 

Go Kindly Forth 28 

My Muse 29 

The Unseen Shore 31 

Just One Word More 32 

Friends 34 

The Passing of the Ship 35 

Sleep Well 37 

A Prayer 39 

A Home Forsaken 40 



THE GARDEN OF LIFE 

Oh, the garden, the old garden 

I knew when I was young! 
A garden full of untold tales 

And of ballads never sung ! 

Sleeping 'neath hoary apple boughs. 
Confined by prim box hedges. 

Its trystings, hid 'mid briar rose, 
Were meet for lover's pledges. 

And round my garden like a bow 
A grassy lane went bending; 

The sun, on lichened wall between, 
The purpling grapes was tending, 

Where peaches fell to hide their cheeks 
Blushing, 'neath shelt'ring flowers. 

And honeysuckles twined to form 
Innumerable bowers. 

There proudly towered hollyhocks. 
There crowded larkspurs azure. 

Lilies, sweet Williams, foxgloves, mixed 
And mingled at their pleasure. 



[1] 



And there a moss-grown sun-dial told 

Anew the false old story, 
For under ^'Tempus FugitT read 

The words *' Memento morir 

But every blossom, leaf and fruit 
The truth affirmed, thanks giving. 

There in that calm and sunlit place 
They told the joy of living. 



[2] 



A BROKEN PROMISE 

Someone asked to be my friend, 

And to have a friend in me. 
I promised — ah, I promised. 

For I thought the thing could be 1 
Then I heard a littk song 

Softly singing in my soul. 
Sadly sweet — so sad, though sweet. 
That I dared not hear the whole ! 
For it told me I must take 

My own promise back again — 
Love! 

Love! 

Love! 
That was my song's refrain ! 

Afar off SOMEONE heard it — 
Ah, how wonderful I know ! 
Came — put his arms about me — 
Sang with me, soft and low : 
Love! 

Love! 

Love! 

That was our song's refrain. 

So each gave back a promise, 
And promised once again. 



[3] 



HOMEWARD 

However far her eager feet 

Have wandered since she went, I know 
In spring they fain would turn to greet 

Our homely lilac's purple blow. 

Perhaps along Elysian ways 

She sees the asphodel unfold, 
And yet I think in spring she prays 

To find our dandelion's gold. 

Although in Heaven the atmosphere 

She breathes be sweet with perfume rare, 

I know she longs, as spring draws near. 
To scent our fruit blooms on the air. 

Though green the fields of Paradise, 
Its waters still, its pastures new. 

She sees 'mid all the glad surprise, 
Home meadows, cowslips, wet with dew. 

So when life quickens, and I hear 
The reveille the bluebirds sing, 

I feel that somewhere, very near. 

She waits to know the joy of spring. 



[4] 



SILENCE 

Oh, sweet and sad the days which are no more ; 

Who knows or sweet or bitter those to come? 

The future hastens, but with progress dumb. 
Laughter may ring, and weary tears may pour ; 
Our hearts may falter, and be glad once more, 

God made the future silent, that the beat 

Of her swift-coming, swift-departing feet 
Should mar no peaceful day with trembling sore. 
O gracious Power, which shields from needless 
pain. 

And from Thy child's own deeds would shelter 
him, 
O mighty Strength, thus to keep hope unslain, 

Thy silence, our unanswered questions, seem 
Proof of Thy wisdom and Thy love again ! 

Wondrous Thy gifts, yet Silence best we deem ! 



[5] 



MY DEBT 

I KNOW He is my creditor, 
And often pause to thank Him for 
The great, essential things of life 
With which my every hour is rife. 
Not with my due His largess ends. 
For Love my poor desert transcends ; 
Before its magnitude I feel 
My own unworthiness, and kneel. 
And in that hour of chastened mood 
Urge my great debt of gratitude ; 
All mine by right ? Ah, no ! 
By Grace of God 'tis so ! 

I know He is my creditor. 
And His great gifts I thank Him for. 
But the pure blue of sea and sky, 
The wealth of flowers on which my eye 
Rests with delight, the perfumed air, 
The comradeships which make life fair, 
Rain after drought, sun after rain, — 
All the familiar round again 
Of commonplace and everyday? 
Sometimes perhaps it seems that they 
Are mine by right ! Yet no ! 
By Grace of God they're so ! 



[6] 



Always He is my creditor, 
Therefore I needs must thank Him for 
The humble affluence each day brings 
Of simple, common, lovely things. 
In their simplicity disguised. 
Too common to be recognized 
As miracles, and mercies rare, 
And answers to unuttered prayer, 
Since, were they lacking, no restraint 
Would serve to silence my complaint. 
These mine by right ? Ah, no ! 
By Grace of God they're so! 



ni 



JUST GLAD 

While we treasure ev'ry sorrow, 

And remember ev'ry pain 
Past and present, — even borrow 

Some the future may contain ; 
While we covet things we're lacking. 

And forget the things we've had, 
Little wonder that we've seldom 

Time enough to be just glad! 



«J 



TO MONA LISA 

Ah, Mona Lisa, who dared to do 

A deed so brave through desire of you? 

While you hung supreme in state on the wall 

Of that salon, sovereign lady of all 

That concourse of beauties, they felt the smart 

Each to the depths of her canvas heart, 

But quite safe, they frowned, while you, who 

fell prey. 
Continued to smile in your mad'ning way. 

That theft gave someone title to be 
Noted a hero eternally. 
But I'll wager the doughty fellow shook, 
Lifting you hastily down from your hook ! 
If not through fear of discovery, 
Did he know a moment's timidity, 
I know he was tempted to wish that day 
Just once you'd cease smiling that mad'ning 
way. 

Sometimes it seems that who made that plan, 
Ruffian or knight, was no mortal man. 
Did some phantom lover take heart of grace 
And spirit you out of that haunted place? 
If so, as he clasped your matronly charms 
Triumphantly close in his ghostly arms, 
Did you with his ghostly feelings play. 
And smile at his shade in your mad'ning way? 

[9] 



Perhaps some latter-day lover still 

Fancied you smiled for him only, till 

He lost his wits through keeping them bent 

On the mighty problem, — what your smile 

meant 
While those there are, foolishly critical. 
Who declare your smile means nothing at all. 
Did you on this lover of common clay 
Continue to smile in your mad'ning way? 

I've heard it whispered affairs of state 
Explain that curious whim of Fate 
That leaves vacant your place on salon wall, 
And piles up your value a column tall. 
Though totaled by ciphers, since who would 

dare 
To trade in your smile? Wherever you are 
Or are not, there's one thing at least to say, 
You are safe from greed while you smile that 

way. 

Another whisper, — a woman's clew ! 

Now '^Cherchez la femme'^ appeals anew. 

Why not some feminine beauty who chose 

To defeat a rival everyone knows 

Was never worthy of thinking about? 

Since she finds you "coarse" and your smile 

"without 
Charm," might this feminine rival essay 
To keep you from smiling that charmless way? 
[10] 



Ah, Mona Lisa, one thing is sure, 

You smile from the space that was yours no 



more 



Whether your beauty was subtle or coarse. 
We confront that space with a sense of loss ; 
Yet, worshiped in hovel or palace of peer, 
Or hidden in darksome closet for fear, 
You smile, Mona Lisa, this very day 
Just in your old-time and maddening way ! 



1"] 



A DREAM 

Once upon a time a woman 

Had a vision very fair, 
Of proud sons whom she would mother, 

Of fond daughters, hers to bear. 

Hers, her children — she, their mother — 
Came no parting in her dream; 

Once her children, hers forever. 
Was to her the eternal scheme. 

And she bore the sons she dreamed of. 
Bore the daughters, — all came true, 

Till their lives from her life severed 
When the old love met the new. 

Only one child never left her. 

Needing her, and nothing more, — 
Giving, taking, all she dreamed of. 

This, THE CHILD SHE NEVER BORE. 



ri2] 



MY OWN 

Why tell me they are far, though fair, — 
Those magic countries I have seen, — 
That seas lie leagues on leagues between? 
What matters it, or here or there, 
Since, with closed eyes, I may be where 
I fain would be? Or fair or far, 
My own those magic countries are! 

What though I seem to linger here? 

I'm still where wavelets dancing are, 

Along the shore at Malaga, 
And oh, the sun of Spain shines clear ! 
It shows me Guadalquivir, 

Like sapphire thread in broidery old. 

Weave its bright way o'er field of gold ! 

Ah, fair, not far, by azure tide. 

Where bright-winged boats rock to and fro, 
Color and light were born I know ! 

And there, the laws of space defied, 

I watch the Arabs in their pride 

Of gorgeous raiment, while once more 
I greet the curved Moroccan shore. 

Again I see the Kasbah rear 

Its tawny mass 'gainst turquoise sky ; 

I see white pigeons flitting by 
The mosque towers, hear the call to prayer; 
[13] 



Then to another scene I fare; 
The law of distance overthrown, 
Or fair or far, I claim my own ! 

I see the Algerian sunlight fall 

Where Bougainvillea's rosy flush 

Spreads, like a woman's maiden blush, 
O'er sleeping palace, snowy wall; 
Ah, now I hear the desert call ! 

And wing through space, since fair, not far, 

I know my magic countries are! 

Once more the Aures mountains leap 

Like ragged flames 'gainst molten skies. 

Gates of my verdant Paradise. 
Their fiery barriers may keep 
The world away, the while I steiep 

My soul in calm, for here I rest — 

Here is the Mecca of my quest ! 

Though to the south Sahara's waves 
Wind-sculptured stretch implacably 
To meet the horizon, — like the sea 
One sepulcher o'er countless graves, 
'Neath palms full many a fountain laves 
The thirsty sands, and verdure bursts. 
Gashing red earth with dagger thrusts. 

Rains golden dust about my feet 

From pendulous mimosa plumes ; 

Here, where the red hibiscus blooms, 
I hear the heart of Nature beat, 
[14] 



Her breath on lang'rous air Is sweet ; 
Once more I feel the old-time thrall, — 
This is my dreamland prodigal! 

White camels pass with shrouded freights, 
White peacocks near my bower flock, 
No power has sea or shore to mock 

My longing to be at these gates ; 

For when my soul grows weary, straight 
I close my eyes, and near or far. 
My own my magic countries are ! 



[15] 



AT PARTING 

Beloved, if the hour hath come 
When Time is o'er for thee, 

Silent I'd speed thy passage home 
Across the unknown sea. 

Lest at this hour my love should hold 

Thy summoned spirit fast, 
I'd free thee of its clinging fold 

Until the hour be passed. 

Though deep within our souls enwove 

Responsive chords must be, 
Mute shall they stay, nor mar, dear love, 

Thy fair nativity. 

I'll silence all, lest some faint sound 

Or echo from them fill 
The heart which, tuned to peace pro- 
found, 

Submissive, should grow still. 



[16] 



AH, GOD FORBID! 

How wonderful 'twould be 

To be away like thee 
If known Life's rare, sweet secret, every word: 
The meaning in the lilt of mother-bird ; 
The meaning of the whisper in the trees ; 
The meaning of the answer in the breeze ; 
Of thunder's crash ; and of the ocean's plaint, 
Meeting with curved shore its sole restraint; 
And subtler secrets told in finer tones 
Unheard by us, though singing 'neath the 

stones 
Songs of frail lives, innumerable and sweet, 
Escaping daily our unheeding feet, 
So safely hid 'mid grass and shelt'ring trees ; 

How wonderful 'twould be 

To be away like thee 
Knowing of these the secret, and of such as these ! 

Yet terrible 'twould be 

To be away like thee 
If it be thine to hear the tortured sigh 
From grief-wrung hearts well up, and slow slip 

V 

The lips, mingling with others on its way 
Upward toward where thou listenest and they 
Who with thee wait ! Ah, helpless, to look down 
On well-beloved compelled to struggle on 
Unconscious of the comfort that ye know, 
[17] 



Predestined each to gain that knowledge so ! 
Then sobs of mothers ; bent beneath the cross, 
Of wives, — bereft, — of children, — man's re- 
morse, — 
Must all in one o'erwhelming moan combine, 
And terrible 'twould be 
To be away like thee! 
Not this thy lot — not this, nor like to thine ! 



[18] 



INGRATITUDE 

Ah, Goldenrod, sweet friend from whom 

But yesterday I turned, 
How human am I that to-day 

I'd clasp thee, lately spurned! 

When Summer's robes were fair and green 

Beneath an azure sky, 
Thy coming filled my heart with pain, — 

It told me she must die. 

Now Summer's robes lie brown and sere, 

A mantle o'er her grave, 
O flower, thou'rt like the very soul 

Of the dead love I crave! 



[19] 



YOUTH 

TO C. A. R. 

Crowned with eighty years of youth, 
Wonderful, strong woman-soul, 

Through the pilgrimage you've made 
Whence has come that fine control 

Making you each year, forsooth. 
Younger, stronger, unafraid? 

Hopes were shattered past redress, 
Life for you had tearing claws. 

Yet you found your way to peace 
If you could not hide the flaws. 

Peace it is, — not supineness. 
Nor does joy in living cease. 

Never have you lagged behind 
Your companions in the throng, 

Never passed them on the road. 
Standing by to make more strong 

Those grown faint, their wounds to bind,- 
You have borne a double load. 

Fragile body, flagging strength, 
Never curbed your eagerness. 

You submission never lent 

To their plea of meagerness ; 

Undismayed you rose at length, 

Toward your Mecca straightway went. 
[20] 



Years have left your spirit free, 
Grief has ne'er set Joy aside. 

Never have you harbored Fear, 
Sorrows cherished sacredly, 

Yet could Hope with you abide. 
And the lamp of Faith burn clear. 

Ah, with you have dwelt the Three, 
Wonderful, strong woman-soul ! 

Through the pilgrimage you've made. 
These have lent you fine control — 

Faith, and Hope, and Charity 
Keep you young and unafraid! 



[21] 



IN SILENCE 

When comes the hush succeeding clam'rous day, 
Assuage thy care with silence, and be still ; 
Too weak are words to answer to the will — 

Strive not with speech ; in shelt'ring silence pray. 

Stronger than words the longing of the heart; 

Speech pleads with man, of words God hath 
no need. 

For He who gives each falling sparrow heed 
Hath greater knowledge than thy lips impart. 



[22] 



JURE DIVINO 

To-morrow night there may not be 
A place on all God's earth for me 

To longer fill, 
But, if I've had my little day. 
Gladly the tangled threads I'll lay 

Down at His will. 

Whither I haste I may not know ; 
He guides my falt'ring footsteps so 

I need no sense 
But gratitude ; though faint and dim 
My sight, the way is clear to Him 

Who leads me hence. 

Perhaps in realms of conscious good. 
Or still in life not understood, 

My soul shall wake. 
No wise law will be set aside 
That good or ill with me abide 

For mine own sake. 

Yet all His universe is Love, 
And all His mighty laws are wove 

With tender care. 
And, knowing this, I cannot fear 
Lest, through their might, no Love appear 

Which I may share. 

[23] 



Content to serve His purpose well, 
Though neither man nor nature tell 

Or where or how, 
Through darkness or effulgent light, 
I bow to His all-seeing sight 

In worship, low. 

Part of His wondrous unity. 
An atom of His majesty, 

I still shall be ; 
And in His universe I know 
His wisdom endlessly will show 

A place for me. 



[24] 



NOT GONE 

Not gone ! Her place is not vacant ! 

Since that first long, weary day 
When, seeking, I failed to find her, 

She is never far away. 

I find her sometimes in her chamber, 
At rest in her favorite chair. 

She smiles at me from her mirror, 
I hear her foot on the stair. 

Yet I see her best in her garden. 
The flush of dawn on her hair. 

Her face bent low o'er her flowers 
As she breathes the perfume there. 

I see her gather the lilies. 

And bind them in stately sheaves, 
And I see the gleam of her roses 

Half hid 'neath their dewy leaves. 

Dew on the hem of her garment. 
And dew on the grass at her feet, 

I see her again in her garden. 

And the day is young and sweet ! 



[25] 



THE LESSON 

It was a very little house, 
But all about were smaller yet, 
Which made it feel a mighty pile 
And all its friendliness forget. 

The little house stood very low ; 
Its neighbors all were lower still, 
Which made it seem so very high 
It dreamed it stood upon a hill. 

And when it sought to overtop 
The other houses, they refused 
To see the pert, aspiring thing ! 
The little house felt much abused! 

It closed its windows, barred its doors. 
Then turned away its face and cried: 
"Henceforth I look for comradeship 
To the great house the other side !" 

But when it came to try that view 
Behold a rugged mountain rose 
Upon whose cloudy crest there stood 
A castle 'mid perennial snows ! 

Ah, then the little house felt sad 

And small and humble! Then it knew 

It wanted no exalted lot. 

But old, old friends though humble too. 

[26] 



"I am a little house," it said, 

"A foolish house, though wiser grown! 

I know one must not live above 

One's neighbors, lest one live alone I" 



J2T I 



GO KINDLY FORTH 

Go kindly forth, Old Year, 

We are not done with thee ; 
Full many a gift of thine 

Shall keep thy memory ! 
Go kindly forth. Old Year. 

Thou canst not come again, 
Yet must thou leave with us 

Thy joy — thy pain! 

Go kindly forth, Old Year ! 

Though one may bide thee stay, 
Another fain would speed 

Thee swiftly on thy way. 
Go kindly forth. Old Year, 

And leave us to our prayers 
That all our gifts from thee 

Bloom unawares. 



[28] 



MY MUSE 

I've a Muse who's really clever, 

May she stay my Muse forever ! 

Flattery may be her weakness, 

Certainly it is not meekness ! 

Sit me down to write a letter. 

She declares an essay's better ; 

If the essay will not work, 

She the onus helps me shirk 

By insisting peosy 

Is the proper work for me. 

Flattered, coaxed, I say, "I Icnew it !" 

But it still remains to do it ! 

Ah, my Muse is truly clever. 
May she stay my Muse forever ! 
When she sees my genius languish. 
Vanished she, despite my anguish; 
Though I vainly seek to find her. 
Saying, "When I do, I'll bind her !" 
Angry that she flew aw^ay 
When I had the least to say, 
I exclaim, "No Muse for me. 
Of such rank inconstancy ! 
Now I've reason good to doubt her;" 
So decide to do without her. 

Though she claims she's Inspiration, 
I decide they're no relation, 
And I summon Industry — 
[29] 



Patient soul — to work with me. 
Critic and creator never 
Can unite — the two I sever. 
Too irate myself to flatter, 
I attack my subject matter; 
Something's to be said — I'll say it- 
Fickle Muse shall not delay it ! 
And before I've quite begun it 
I discover that I've done it ! 
When — most marvelous of all ! — 
Comes my Muse without recall ! 



t 80 



THE UNSEEN SHORE 

Hither we come, unknowing and unknown, 
Out of a world of vast, unmeasured space 
Into this other, here to seek a place. 

Aspire, fulfill, or faint, and then — pass on ! 

Whence came we hither? Whither do we go? 
Shall we toss, helmless, on a shoreless sea, 
Or shall we sail by some divine decree 

On a predestined course? We may not know; 

Yet men have sailed the self-same course e'er 
now. 
And all the ports they sailed from lie behind, 
And all are outward bound — we never find 

Or speak a bark with backward turning prow — • 

How can we doubt another lies before? 
Beyond the horizon line safe harbors are. 
And In the sky the helmsman sees his star. 

And guides his bark straight to the unseen shore. 



[31] 



JUST ONE WORD MORE 

Just one word more! 
Since naught of praise before 
This solemn pause was heard, 
Just one more word! 

Wliy were his comrades mute 
If now to his repute 
So much remains to say? 
Why now such haste to pay? 
If mede of praise was due 
Him during life, 'tis true 
The same is due him dead; 
Yet can it now be paid? 
Why silence such a space. 
Then summoned every grace, 
His virtues magnified. 
His faults with them allied. 
Remembered word and deed? 
Poor ghosts, too late they plead ! 

Just one word more, 
Since naught was heard before ! 
Death does not make man whole, 
'Tis Life sustains the soul ; 
So better did we pay 
Our debts along Life's way. 
If only for the dead. 
Better were praise unsaid. 
[32] 



Mere justice during Life, 
During its heat and strife, 
Might fuller payment be 
Than Death's late eulogy. 



[33] 



FRIENDS 

I KNEW, as I walked with my lifelong friends 

And comrades along the way, 
That an hour comes when comradeship ends 

Until night brings another day. 
I thought I could wait in the falling night, 

Since it preludes rising sun, 
Yet I faced despair with the failing light, 

And cried, "Must I wait alone?" 

Then the sun's last ray with finger of gold 
Sought my book-shelves, and my despair 

Fled forever, for faithful friends and old 
Were still waiting with me there ! 



[34] 



THE PASSING OF THE SHIP 

There flows a river swift and strong 

On ebb of tide to the sea, 
And by its bank is poised a ship 

Awaiting her turn to flee. 

Tall and straight are her slender spars, 
White and pure are her wings. 

The river loves and woos her well, 
Yet sad is the song it sings 1 

"Give me thy beauty, O fair white ship ! 

Trust thy pure new soul to me ! 
Rest content on my faithful heart! 

Dream not of the cruel sea !" 

Ftirled and still are the white ship's sails, ^ 
Wide wings that have never spread. 

They quiver ! She moves ! Her spirit yearns ! 
The ocean she fain would wed! 

Swift she glides to the flowing stream; 

It bears her upon its breast 
By sad green shores and warning rocks 

To the lover she loves best. 

Never again will that white ship greet 

River or beckoning shore; 
They long and listen, watch and wait, 

But she will return no more. 

1 Though it is seldom done, a ship is sometimes 
launched fully rigged, and with sails as in this instance. 

[35] 



Spread at last are her spotless wings 

To winds that sad and slow 
Waft her away ; they know full well 

The lover she does not know ! 

The untried wooer holds her fast ; 

She yields to that fierce embrace. 
Will he hold her ever, or cast her away 

With scars on her proud, pale face? 

Into the shades of coming night 
The pure white ship disappears ; 

The river turns, and its ripples fall 
On the shore like long held tears ! 



[36] 



SLEEP WELL 

The trees lift up their gaunt, gray arms in 
grief 
Until they almost touch the lowering sky. 
The rain falls bitterly like long held tears ; 

The wind goes sighing, sighing by; 
There is a sound of wailing on the air : 
Yet she hears not who lies so quiet there, 
For she sleeps well. 

Just now I called her gently by her name — 
There was no answer, and I called again, — 

And still no answer, save the wailing in the air 
And the sad falling of the winter rain. 

So still she sleeps, I cannot hear her breath ! 
So still, so still — it seems almost like death 
She sleeps so well ! 

Just now I took her quiet hand in mine — 

It lay there like a snowflake, white and cold ; 
I pressed a tender kiss upon her lips. 

But they replied not as they did of old. 
She cannot know that cold kiss chilled me 
through, 
Her lips would sure be warmer if she knew: 
Ah, she sleeps well! 



[37] 



O love, lift up the curtains from thine eyes ! 

Love, let thy lips warmth from my kisses take ! 
Oh, break the terror of that stern repose ! 

Thy silence brings strange fears ! Awake ! 
Awake ! — 
There is no answer, and the shadows o'er her 
face 
Make all the movement in this lonely place 
Where she sleeps well! 



She will not wake ! Then sigh, winds, soft and 
low, 
And lull me to a sleep where I may see 
Her in her living presence as I used. 

Where this dread silence never more shall be ! 
Ah, dreams are sweet, for she lives but in dreams ! 
Give me that peace which her deep sleeping 
seems ; 
Let both sleep well ! 



[38] 



A PRAYER 

Why should I ask of Thee 
That which seems best to me, 

Ahnighty One? 
To alter Thy last word 
Who saw that all was good 

When it was done, — 
That were to limit Thee 
In Thy divinity, 
Making my selfish plea 

An empty one. 

Then let me make that plea 
''What seemeth best to Thee, 

Almighty One !" 
I pray my heart's desire 
Be humbly lifted higher 

To meet Thine own, 
For when in harmony 
My wish with Thine shall be, 
Needless an uttered plea — 

All Good is won ! 



[39] 



A HOME FORSAKEN 

A HOUSE by the roadside, gray and still, 
A window open, the doors ajar; 

But only the far-ofF echoes fill 

Rooms where no answering voices are. 

The lilac raises her lovely face, 
Lays it gently against the pane ; 

Seeks she to find in that lonely place 
Those who never come back again? 

Closer she leans, as the seasons go. 
To walls that have sheltered her well. 

Seeking to screen them, that none may know 
The tale of desertion they tell. 

Deep 'neath the almond and tiger blooms. 
Sunken, forgetting its old-time place. 

The doorstone lies ; and the lilac plumes 
Rend ever lower to hide its face. 

From the ruined eaves, vines clinging yet 
Droop sadly over the open door. 

Reaching for hands they cannot forget 
To divide their tendrils once more. 

Down by the gate the cinnamon rose 

Lingering, strays through the uncut grass, 

Patiently seeking a face she knows. 
Listening, longing, for steps to pass. 
[40] 



She has blushed and faded many a day, 
With the damask rose by her side, 

For lilies, roses, and lilacs stay 
Where only their like may abide. 

Poplar trees guarding the fallen gate. 
Growing ever more gaunt and gray. 

Shudder and tremble and watch and wait, 
For a step to return that way. 

But never again will that still home keep 
In its heart either joy or pain. 

Its own may wake, or its own may sleep, 
It will never fold them again. 

Ah, cinnamon rose, and damask sweet, 
Lily, lilac, and clinging vine. 

Fashion a fragrant winding-sheet 
For this sorrowful friend of thine ! 

Spread gently over the hushed old place 
Where youth and beauty have bloomed. 

'Tis fitting that hid in thy soft embrace 
The forsaken should lie entombed. 



[41] 



r H17 89 ' 



JUL 10 1913 










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